


Falling Down

by Azertyrobaz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Death Watch (Star Wars), Found Family, Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Original Character(s), lost family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26661826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azertyrobaz/pseuds/Azertyrobaz
Summary: A chance encounter on Nevarro forces Din to reexamine his past. One he has both tried to forget and remember. While having to rethink his definition of family, he is faced with a choice.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Comments: 75
Kudos: 139





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second 'what if?' plot bunny that has been plaguing me lately. Angst and feels but also some fluff.  
> As always, feel free to comment!

** Falling Down **

_The summer sun  
It blows my mind  
It's falling down on all that I've ever known  
Time to kiss the world goodbye  
Falling down on all that I've ever known  
Is all that I've ever known_

_A dying scream  
Makes no sound  
Calling out to all that I've ever known  
Here am I, lost and found  
Calling out to all_

_We live a dying dream  
If you know what I mean  
All that I've ever known  
It's all that I've ever known_

_Catch the wheel that breaks the butterfly  
I cried the rain that fills the ocean wide  
I tried to talk with God to no avail  
Calling my name and out of nowhere  
I said "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time"_

(Oasis, _Dig Out Your Soul_ )

Din wasn’t sure why he kept coming back to Nevarro.

He could have chosen another Guild outpost to do his business now that the covert had relocated. And yet, here he was again. He wondered if it was because he’d gotten used to Greef Karga’s ways by now, and simply felt weary at the prospect of having to get to know someone else. The planet wasn’t particularly remarkable and the smell of sulfur seemed to linger on his clothes for days afterwards. Maybe if Cara had stuck around he’d have an excuse, but she’d recently decided to meet up with some members of her old crew from her Rebel days to see if they needed help rounding up other Imperial remnants. At least the whole Gideon debacle had been beneficial to her in that way, making her realize she still had it in her to fight for a cause.

 _Fight for a cause_.

Din sighed, and kept on walking, the child somehow sensing his gloom and cooing at him from his bag. That had been Cara’s departure present after he’d lost an umpteenth floating crib: a cloth bag in which he could carry the kid. It was practical, as he could still use both his hands, and not as obvious if he needed him to hide. Most often than not, he preferred to stick his head out though, which made his ears stand out like crazy and most people he met do a double take. But they’d just left Karga and he thought the boy had conked out during their boring, work-related conversation. He set a reassuring hand against the warm bundle and he felt the small shape settle again, hidden from the world at the moment.

Another noise suddenly stopped him in his tracks. Another child, as it turned out. A boy, who had just been pushed against a wall in an alley to his left, and Din immediately gravitated in that direction.

“Hey!” he said when he reached the two Ubeses cornering the kid. He’d barely had to raise his voice and they were already fleeing, murmuring insults in their native tongue behind their backs.

“Are you okay?” he asked the boy, who looked even more terrified now, eyes staring in horror at his helmet.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” Din told him, used to children’s reactions when they saw the armor by now. But even after all these years, it still got to him. He held out his hand slowly, and it took the kid a long time to grip it in his and let himself be pulled up from the ground. Din knew about patience when it came to scared kids, and wouldn’t rush things.

“Are you injured?” he inquired calmly once the boy was up, and he shook his head in reply, his gaze not leaving his despite the visor between them. “Did they take something from you?” Another headshake. The kid must have been around ten, he thought. Clearly too young to linger around that part of town. His clothes, bearing an intricate pattern, were in good condition, and his hair, though unruly, washed. He was no street urchin.

“You shouldn’t come around here, it’s not safe. Especially so late,” he couldn’t help but reproach.

“I know,” the boy grumbled, but at least he was speaking to him now.

“They’re spice dealers, you’re trampling on their territory,” Din added, aware of all the illicit traffics going around in Nevarro given his familiarity with the place.

“I _know_ ,” the kid repeated stubbornly, but quickly deflated when he remembered who was in front of him. “I just… I was late for dinner and thought I’d take a shortcut home.”

“Are you lost?”

“N-no,” the dark haired boy replied, not fooling him in the slightest. Din sighed.

“What’s your name?” he asked, thinking he could go back to Greef – he knew everybody in town and could probably tell him where the kid lived.

The child worried his lips and hesitated. At least he’d been warned against talking to strangers. But apparently not enough, because he whispered a reply that Din made him repeat twice.

“Din? Your name is Din?” he marveled in consternation, not even realizing that he hadn’t given him a family name, which made his disclosure useless if he wanted to find his home.

“Yeah,” the kid said, frowning. “What’s wrong with my name?” he asked defensively.

“Nothing,” he quickly replied, deciding on the spot that it was just a coincidence. It was just a three letter name. It didn’t mean anything. As if he’d managed to recognize that something was amiss again, his boy decided to stick his head out of his bag and emit a questioning sound.

“Who is that?” the child asked with a small smile, immediately more at ease.

“My foundling,” Din replied simply.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s under my care,” he clarified, still stuck on the revelation that they both shared the same name. He couldn’t help but feel that there was more to this. That he was missing something crucial. That the brown eyed boy was just the tip of the iceberg. One thing was for certain, he needed to find out more.

“If I take you back to the high street, will you find your way home?” he queried and the boy nodded, still staring at the kid. Dimly, he realized that carrying the child in a bag was frankly detrimental to his fearsome bounty hunter persona. Din sighed, and they were soon walking out of the alley.

His kid happily babbled nonsense to the other kid as they made their way to the boy’s house. When they had reached the high street, Din had decided that with the sun having set and darkness looming, an escort might be appropriate, and it seemed to please the kid. Both kids, really.

“What’s _his_ name?” the boy asked, clearly done with being frightened of him and his armor.

“He doesn’t have one yet,” Din admitted.

“Why not?” he pressed, and Din had to acknowledge it was actually a blessing that his kid didn’t speak yet.

Thankfully, he was saved from figuring out a satisfactory reply – one he didn’t have – as they reached the door the child had indicated. Sensing that things were about to take a more serious turn, the child quieted down immediately and his boy stuck his head back in the bag.

Din knocked when he realized that the kid wouldn’t make the first move, and he didn’t have to wait long before a harried woman opened the door.

“Din!” she exclaimed, and he stood very still, his unease increasing tenfold. That strange feeling hadn’t left him. Ever since the boy had told him they shared the same name. As if his mind was trying to tell him something. Something he’d been unable to see for himself.

“I’m sorry, mom,” the boy replied, subdued, hands clasped behind his back. “I got lost and the Mandalorian helped me.”

Din startled again – it wasn’t that often that people knew who Mandalorians were. Especially kids.

“I can see that,” the woman replied, teeth set. She had long wavy dark hair and piercing hazel eyes. Eyes that seemed to rattle his very soul at the moment. It was quite obvious she didn’t care much for Mandos, but Din swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat – he _needed_ to find out more. He needed to make sure that his sharing a name with her son was merely a coincidence.

“I found him before the Ubeses rattled him too much,” Din said, feeling a bit bad for having to sell out the kid, who’d lowered his shoulders in defeat.

“The Ubeses? What were you _doing_ near Ubeses?” the boy’s mother asked, arms akimbo.

“I told you, I got lost,” he mumbled, eyes downcast.

“You know you’re not supposed to go near the market place after dark…”

“I know, I’m really sorry,” he interrupted. “But the Mandalorian protected me and they ran off as soon as he showed up.”

“Did he now?” The woman started looking at him a bit differently, and Din was happy to see that his plan had worked. Just as he was trying to come up with a question of his own, his boy decided that it was safe to show his face again.

“Boo?” he asked, turning towards him, then overtly started to sniff the air. His helmet filtered a lot, but not everything, and he had also started to notice the rich aroma coming from inside. Probably that dinner the boy had been afraid to miss. Not having enjoyed a hot meal in several days, it took everything in him to stop his stomach from rumbling, but his kid had no such notions, and started bouncing against him, his way of letting him know he wanted out of the bag.

The woman’s look softened some more at the sight of his kid and she seemed to reach a conclusion she didn’t particularly like, but accepted.

“Why don’t you come in and have dinner with us?” she suggested.

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Din accepted. At least, his boy would be able to eat. He always made sure he had his fill, even if it meant a smaller portion for himself, but home cooking was a rare treat they hadn’t enjoyed since they’d been to Sorgan last, several months ago now.

The house was small but inviting, with bright colored cloths hanging across the walls and delineating areas: the kitchen to the left, a living space at the center, and small bedrooms at the back. The smell was even more enticing now, and he could feel the warmth of the stove even from where he stood.

“Alright _ad_ ’ _ika_ , settle down,” he mumbled, taking the kid out of the bag but keeping him in his arms for now.

“Who are you?” piped up a small voice. The little girl he hadn’t seen appear looked barely bigger than his charge, but was probably around five or six. Her huge dark eyes rivalled his boy’s but she showed none of the wariness her brother had displayed earlier when he’d met him.

“He is our guest Neela, now go wash your hands before dinner,” her mother said from the kitchen. But the girl wouldn’t budge.

“He is so cute! Can I hold him? What’s his name?”

Before Din had time to formulate an answer and wonder why young girls with dark hair seemed so taken with his foundling, the woman reappeared with two bowls heaped with delicious smelling stew. The little girl finally moved to the washroom with a huff when she was admonished to do so.

“We eat in the kitchen, and you and your child can eat here. I assume you can remove your helmet in front of them?” she asked a bit bluntly, and Din could only nod, stunned that she seemed to know so much about Mandalorians while clearly disliking them.

“Thank you,” he only managed to say.

“We won’t bother you. Please eat in peace.” Din didn’t need any help deciphering what she was implying: eat, then leave.

True to her words, she closed the curtain and he soon felt relaxed enough to remove his helmet. The kid had already attacked his food with his usual fervor, and listening to the quiet conversation coming from the two children and their mother, he almost felt like he was sharing this moment with them. He tried to pace himself while eating, and distracted his appetite by wondering how he’d be able to broach the subject of the boy’s name before he left. The woman didn’t owe him anything, and offering a meal to him and his boy was already more than he expected from a stranger. Especially one that made no qualms about her disdain for his Creed. But that was fair enough in his book – he actually preferred this reaction than abject fear.

Not having come up with any realistic plan apart from flat out asking her, he put his helmet back on and helped the kid finish his meal. He complained at first, thinking he was going to take away his bowl and Din felt himself smile.

“When have I ever stolen your food? I just want to help you,” he chuckled, spooning stew for him. Presented with more food, the boy happily opened his mouth, his annoyance already forgotten.

The kid was still trying to scrape the bottom of his bowl when the small family reappeared, after a discreet enquiry from the mother to find out if it was safe to enter the room or not. Din stood up, knowing it was the polite thing to do, and would have picked up his boy if the little girl hadn’t immediately gravitated towards him, her intent to get to know him better clear. His child, being who he was, jumped at the offer of attention, and offered his best smile and coo.

“Thank you for the food, it was delicious,” said Din, handing her the empty bowls before she had time to remonstrate her daughter, which she was clearly about to do. Maybe the kids would prove useful in his attempt to strike up a conversation – something he had never been very good at in the first place.

She sighed but took the bowls back to the kitchen and he found himself facing the boy sharing his name again.

“I’m sorry for having told your mom what happened,” he uttered quietly, and he received a small half-smile in return. He had always found it easier to speak to kids and he wondered what that said about him.

“It’s okay, she would have found out anyway, she always does,” he whispered back, just as his mother reappeared in the room, her intense eyes making him appreciate that her son’s suspicion was probably accurate.

“Look Din!” the little girl uttered, and he couldn’t resist turning towards her, realizing too late that she was calling her brother. A ball of blue yarn was currently suspended in midair over his child.

“Wow!” said the boy, rushing to his sister’s side to observe the performance, which was a very impressive one indeed, and that the little one loved to give, especially when other kids were present. And especially when he felt _safe_ , which stopped Din from saying anything. He hadn’t done it outside the Crest for a long time – again, since Sorgan – and instead of worrying over the possible repercussions of letting strangers see what he could do, he felt a sense of peace enveloping him. If his foundling felt at ease here, then so should he. After all, he’d never been wrong when it came to that.

Even the unflappable mother came closer, and encouraged the boy with soft praises, mirroring his clear delight with her own.

“What a gifted child you have, Mandalorian,” she said, and it was the first time her eyes held something other than mistrust. Seeing it as the best – and probably only – chance he’d get, he sat on the floor behind his kid, who was starting to tire and welcomed the safety of his arms.

“The little one is sleepy now, why don’t you go wash up and get ready for bed?” she told her two children, who complained at first but eventually left, waving at his boy who copied their gesture languidly.

Din held his breath and expected her to ask him to leave, a request he’d be unable to refuse, but she merely observed him in her quiet but determined way. He thought it would therefore be okay if he did the same, and he realized that when her hazel eyes didn’t project wariness, they held a lot of sadness. She couldn’t have been much older than him - if at all - and yet she had that melancholy gaze he had seen a lot during and right after the war. Looking around the room, he noticed more balls of yarn in a corner, as well as a weaving loom.

“I’m a seamstress,” she provided unnecessarily. “You don’t seem to be in need of my services if not for that cloak of yours, though your child might be,” she added, indicating the well-worn brown outfit that would indeed require a replacement soon.

Knowing somehow that they were talking about him, his drowsy boy made a pleading sound he was starting to recognize and gestured for his bag.

“Just a second, _ad’ika_ ,” he whispered.

“So what are you still doing here?” the woman eventually asked, eyebrows arched and stare unflinching. She had showed no fear at finding herself alone with an armed man while her two young children were getting ready for bed, and for that he could only admire her.

“Why did your name your son Din?” he ultimately managed to say, getting straight to the point.

“What is it to you?” she countered, frowning, and he shrugged.

“I’m just curious,” he replied, the lie blatant. It was more than curiosity, and they both knew it.

“Why would a Mandalorian warrior ask such a question?” she wondered, not expecting an answer. Din remained silent. She would either tell him or she wouldn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it, as he wasn’t about to reveal his own name.

They heard the children laugh at the back of the house and she smiled sadly. After a while, she took in a deep breath, then released it.

“Oh, what does it matter…” she muttered. “I named him after my brother,” she revealed.

“And what happened to your brother?” Din asked in a breath, sitting utterly still.

“He died,” she replied, her hard stare accusing once more. “Long ago. At the hands of your own people. Now will you _please_ , go?” she demanded, voice barely held in check as she stood up, intent on showing him the door.

Din remained glued to the floor. He had lost all feeling in his limbs and his head suddenly seemed to weigh a ton. He tried to swallow and almost choked. The woman might have added something but he wasn’t hearing her anymore – a buzzing sound had taken over his senses. He saw hazel eyes in his mind. His mother’s eyes. But not only his mother’s. There was someone else. There had _always_ been someone else. But his mind had refused to let him see more. No matter how much he tried. No matter how much it _hurt_ to remember.

“Boo?” cooed his boy, who hadn’t left his unmoving arms. His concerned interruption finally propelled him into action and broke his trance. With shaking hands, he reached for the kid’s bag, and removed the item his charge had requested earlier when he had started feeling sleepy.

He had been cleaning the ship several months back and came across old clothes. Some of them _very_ old. For reasons he hadn’t understood, the child had latched onto the red, patched-up, and barely recognizable sweater immediately, and claimed it as his own on the spot. It now wouldn’t leave his side and he held onto it in his sleep. The top he had been wearing on the day he was rescued by the Mandalorians somehow became his favorite blanket. His cuddly toy. And there had been no reasoning with him. It was as if he had _felt_ the power the outfit still held over him. An outfit he had never been able to part from, in the end. Managing to retain it after all these years, even if it was completely misshapen by now.

“I noticed…that your boy’s clothes had a similar pattern to this,” he uttered, his voice hoarse and his heart beating wildly against his chest.

“Where did you get this?” she asked angrily, towering above him. “I never use red, not since…”

“I was wearing that sweater on the day my parents died,” he interrupted her softly, finally handing it to the waiting arms of his son, who immediately cuddled around it, and Din smiled despite everything. “And the reason I asked why you named your son Din is because I share the same name,” he admitted, looking up at her.

The woman sat down heavily where she stood, and her gaze didn’t leave his. Her hazel eyes held so many different emotions that he couldn’t be certain to list them all properly. Mistrust. Doubt. Fear. Anger. But also hope.

“What’s your name?” she asked in a breath, and he understood what she meant.

“Din Djarin,” he said. “My name is Din Djarin.”

She exhaled but said nothing for a very long time.

“And what is your name?” Din couldn’t resist inquiring.

The woman frowned again, the hope disappearing from her gaze. “If your name really is Din Djarin, then you wouldn’t be asking that question. Din Djarin, the real Din Djarin, _my brother_ , would know.”

“I don’t remember,” he tried, when he should have said ‘I don’t remember _anything_.’

“You’re a liar,” she replied coldly, and her words hurt more than he expected. He could tell she was about to stand up again, ask him to leave, and he felt desperate, so he grabbed her arm before she could do so and she froze.

“Wait,” Din pleaded, the overwhelming rush of emotions he felt preventing him from ordering his thoughts. If this woman was his sister, then he had to hold her back. He had to make her understand. “Please, just listen, I don’t… All I remember is being held in my father’s arms while the world around me was coming to an end. Explosions everywhere. Death. Then my mom telling me she loved me and pushing me down a bunker. And then…” But he stopped, unable to continue. He heard the detonation, claiming his parents’ lives. Saw the droid, ready to fire.

“You survived? But how?” she wondered, clearly unconvinced he was telling the truth still. But at least she wasn’t attempting to stand up. And hadn’t shrugged off his loose hold on her arm.

“The Mandalorians saved me,” he said, and then she turned cold again.

“You mean they kidnapped you after they killed our parents?”

“They didn’t kill…” he started, uncomprehending. “It was the Separatist droids, it wasn’t…”

“And who led the droids to our city in the first place, huh?”

Din remained silent again, as he had heard many stories about Death Watch, and very few of them good, even among other Mandalorians. But if it weren’t for them, he’d be dead, no matter what she was implying.

“I don’t know what they _tried_ to make you believe…” she started again.

“They’re not like that,” he interrupted. “They’re not _all_ like that,” he amended, when he saw her face. “And they were good to me, they took care of me, they…”

But this time, he couldn’t prevent her from standing up and emitting a sigh he was familiar with. Despite the serious turn their conversation had taken, the little one had burrowed against him and was almost asleep, ears drooped and red sweater held tightly in his claws.

“I wish I could remember,” he admitted. “Sometimes, it’s like I almost got it. I wake up from a dream and there’s this moment I can just _touch_ it,” Din continued, absently resting his hand over the boy’s small chest and rubbing his palm over it slowly. “Faces. Laughter. My parents. And I think I see _you_ , too. But it always goes away after a while, and there’s nothing I can do to recapture it. It’s like my life started on that awful day and all I know are the Mandalorians.”

The woman, his sister, exhaled again and turned her back on him, hiding her emotions from his searching eyes.

“Haza,” she whispered, and he understood she was giving him her name. He said it in his mind, slowly, testing the word, and pretended it meant something to him. But it didn’t. It was not a magic trick. It hadn’t suddenly given him his memories back.

“Haza,” he finally said out loud. “Can you tell me what happened on that day?”


	2. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments, they mean a lot! Obviously, this one parter is now turning into a three parter... Also, I'm not being too kind on the Mandalorians in this chapter, just a heads-up.

_“Haza,” he finally said out loud. “Can you tell me what happened on that day?”_

He could tell she was hesitating, and still wouldn’t turn around. But he had all the time in the world now that his child was asleep and they had stopped hearing little Din and Neela at the back of the house. As long as she didn’t push him out the door, he’d stay there on the floor and wait for her to speak. Wait for her to unlock his past, which had remained a mystery for thirty years.

“I don’t know what’s worse – that I’m finding out that my little brother isn’t actually dead or that he has been raised by Mandalorians and became one of _them_ ,” she uttered, and Din closed his eyes in pain. He tried to convince himself that she might hate Mandos, yes, but it didn’t mean that she hated _him_.

And yet, how could he separate one from the other? How could he, when the whole universe only knew him as one thing, safe for the dwindling members of his tribe. A tribe he hadn’t laid eyes on for a year. He knew where they were. He knew exactly where the Covert had relocated thanks to the Alor sending a coded message to his ship. But he had stayed away, his feeling of guilt overwhelming. Through it all, he had continued working for the Guild. Amassing credits he barely used on himself. On the boy, yes, a little. What was required to keep him fed and reasonably happy.

Din wondered how long he could make that charade last: collecting money for people he felt too ashamed to face after causing so many deaths among their ranks. It was a handsome sum, and part of him wondered why the Alor hadn’t reached out to him again. Hadn’t asked where the credits he was supposed to provide as _beroya_ were. Was that her way of telling him to stay away? Was he not welcome anymore?

“Will you still tell me?” Din asked softly, mindful of his sleeping charge. “Please?”

That last word must have surprised her, because she turned around and observed him. Almost clinically. She approached and sat right across from him, a lot closer than he had expected or was comfortable with. He held his breath and waited to see what she would do.

“Will you show me your face?” Haza inquired, eyes almost green in the soft light of the room.

Din faltered. He hadn’t expected that request, but he should have. She was his sister, surely this was allowed, but still he held back, and she understood immediately what his hesitation meant.

“My own little brother, and I can’t see his face…” she lamented. “How can you say that your people aren’t monsters when they prevent you to do that?”

And Din had no answer because that eventuality had never occurred to him. That he could have a family outside of the Mandalorians. And he did hate them, at that moment. The flash of anger swift but definitely there. He looked down at his foundling and remembered how long it had taken him to feel comfortable removing his helmet in front of him. Even after they were made a clan. Even after he had whispered the required vows to him. It still felt like he was doing something he shouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, because there was nothing else to say.

His sister sighed and stood up, but it was only to put distance between them. She sat on the cushions across from him, a table now separating them. Din felt both comforted by this, and sad that this would be his automatic reaction. Shouldn’t he relish the presence of his long lost sister next to him?

“What else do you remember?” she asked, her face now devoid of any emotion, preventing Din from finding out what she felt. That was a neat trick for someone who wasn’t wearing a helmet, he thought.

“Nothing,” Din replied. “Well, almost nothing,” he conceded. “There are some things I think I remember, but I’m not sure if they are real or not.”

“Like what?”

“Like mom’s voice. And her eyes, like yours. And I think I look a bit like dad now, but…I’m not sure.”

“Din looks like you,” Haza added, her tone slightly less bitter than a minute ago. “Like you did, when you were a kid,” she amended.

Din nodded, because although he didn’t really recall how he looked at that age, as he’d been barely older than her son when he’d taken his oath, he appreciated the fact that at least her memory of him was still intact.

“You really don’t remember _anything_ from before?” she wondered, shoulders drooping, her unconcerned mask slipping slightly.

“No, I would have come back otherwise. If I’d known there was a possibility you were still alive.”

“Would the Mandalorians have let you do that?” she asked derisively, focusing on her anger once more.

“I would have found a way,” he vowed, and she seemed surprised that he sounded so sure. As if he’d have it any differently. She was his _sister_ , of course he would have come back for her. “Was there…was there anyone else I forgot?” Din asked, dreading her answer.

“No other siblings, no. Though you wanted a little brother, I remember that,” Haza said with a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You were tired of playing dolls with me, I think,” she recalled.

“What happened to you?” he pressed, swallowing hard. “After…”

“After the Mandalorians destroyed Aq Vetina and took you away? Maybe took a lot of other children away, now that I think about it…” she interrupted him, and he tried not to react too strongly.

“No, I was… I was the only child they rescued that day. There were others later, but not then. I… I would have known. We were all taken to the same place,” he explained, fidgeting slightly on the floor then stopping himself when he realized he might wake up the boy. He hoped she wouldn’t ask him about those first few days, because those he remembered very clearly. And he had no wish to rehash them again.

“You were young, but I remember our parents talking about it. Droid attacks on nearby planets. Then nearby cities. And always, _always_ , the Mandalorians sweeping in and saving the day. Kind of convenient, don’t you think? I had no idea what Mandalorians were, but after that day, I never forgot,” Haza said, and Din thought it was probably best if he remained silent. She deserved to get it out of her system. It was _her_ story, _her_ experience, not his.

“So people expected a raid. But not on a holiday,” she continued, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder. “We had all gathered at the Temple that morning, that’s why we were wearing ceremonial red,” she added, gesturing towards the sweater the child was holding in his sleep.

“We were taken by surprise. It was…chaos,” Haza recalled, and it was clear to see that despite all her attempts to hide it, the memory was affecting her just as much as him. And that it wasn’t one she was asked to talk about often. “I had decided to sit with our uncle and his wife, so we were separated when the ships started to fire and the droids landed. I can still remember dad’s look when we rushed out of the building, making sure his brother had me. It was the last time I saw him, saw all three of you,” she concluded.

Din stayed silent, and tried to remember the scene as she was describing it, but there was nothing. Just a void of empty memories.

“Our uncle died in the attack,” Haza carried on unprompted. “But not his wife. And she’s the one who pretty much took care of me afterwards. We went to live outside Aq Vetina, as the settlement had sustained too much damage. It still hasn’t been rebuilt to this day…”

Haza sighed and seemed to collect her thoughts. Now that she had started talking, she didn’t know how to stop.

“She was a seamstress herself and taught me her trade. And then she died, and I left the planet. Left the system, even. Met my husband, a mechanic, then he died too during the war and I came to live here with our children. We couldn’t stay where we were anymore and this was the closest planet that was suitable,” she said in a rush. Din knew a lot remained unsaid, and he wanted to ask for more details, but they were interrupted by a small voice.

“Mom? Neela wants a story. One of _your_ stories,” said little Din, who was standing just at the entrance of the room respectfully, but could have very well been lurking there for a long time.

Haza stood up quickly, only then realizing how much she had been sharing with him it seemed, and clearly glad of the interruption. She gave him one look he couldn’t decipher before leaving the room and her son behind. Din was sure the boy had heard most – if not all – of their conversation, and his next words, said in a breath, were proof enough.

“Are you my uncle then?”

“I guess so,” Din replied, because it had only been a few minutes.

The child – his nephew – looked at his feet, unsure if he was welcome inside the room.

“But you are a Mandalorian, is that okay? Are you allowed to have a family?” he asked, and Din felt his breath stutter, his innocent words too close for comfort.

“I didn’t know I still had a family,” he admitted.

“Will you come back to see us?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “If your mother lets me,” he added, and the boy finally gave him a small smile and got a little nearer.

“Mom said we should never trust a Mandalorian if we met one,” Din said casually, not realizing how hard it was for him to hear those words said out loud.

“Your mom has her reasons. And they are good reasons,” he replied, thinking it was high time he found someone who could tell him more about Death Watch and the role they had played in the days preceding the fall of Mandalore.

“I heard there used to be a lot of Mandalorians here, but they all left. And there was a big battle last year with soldiers from the Empire, but mom won’t talk about it and didn’t let us leave the house for days with Neela. Is that true? Were you there?” the boy asked, eager to learn more. Din was torn, as he didn’t want to go against his sister’s wishes on the matter, which he didn’t know but could guess – this was still too new and would inevitably blow up in his face in any case, he was sure. The very idea that he now had a sister, a niece and a nephew was just ludicrous. And yet here he was, desperate to be part of their lives and accepted already.

“I was there,” he admitted simply, choosing not to mention the Mandalorians who _hadn’t_ been able to leave the planet.

“What was it about? Why were you fighting?” he pressed, dark eyes wide open in wonder, and moving even closer to where he was sitting on the floor.

“They wanted to take something from me, but they didn’t manage to do it.”

“Do you think they’re coming back? To get it?” he asked, frowning in worry now.

“I don’t know,” Din sighed, because that question had been bothering him as well. He knew Gideon had survived, but he didn’t understand why he still hadn’t made another move. He could very well come back to Nevarro, and this used to be something Din didn’t agonize over much, but now he had to be more careful. Make sure he didn’t endanger them because of who he was and the baby he travelled with.

“How long have you lived here?” he wondered out loud, thinking it was only fair that he asked questions himself.

“Since Neela was a little baby. She was born in Nuuka, but we moved here right after. After…dad died.”

“I’m sorry,” Din said sincerely and the boy shrugged.

“I don’t remember him very well. But Neela never met him, that’s sad.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“But I remember Nuuka a bit, and it was nice. Nicer than here, I mean. And there were more children. Mom said we were only going to be here for a little while and that it was just temporary but…”

And then Haza reappeared and the child’s ears turned bright red in embarrassment. But she only stroked his unruly hair and told him to go to bed in a soft voice. He looked in his direction one last time and offered him a small grin and a nod, his eyes still full of questions, before disappearing.

“I’m gonna go,” said Din, standing up. “I need to put this little one to bed, too,” he added, holding the small shape a little tighter.

Haza seemed surprised at first, but then smiled briefly, and it was the first time it reached her eyes.

“He’s a precious one,” his sister agreed. “Was he what the Empire was trying to take from you?” she added, proving that she was just as good as her son at eavesdropping discreetly.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Because of his powers?” she guessed, and he nodded, then thought of something.

“You ever saw that before? What he can do?”

“No,” she replied.

“I’m trying to reunite him with his family,” he told her, well aware that the topic was a sensitive one, as the Mandalorians who had rescued him certainly hadn’t attempted to do the same, although he hadn’t been able to tell them he still had a family to speak of.

“So I’m guessing you’ve been trying to find the Jedi,” she inferred, walking with him towards the door.

“You know about the Jedi?” he marveled, stopping in his tracks.

“Not really,” she shrugged. “I just read about them.”

“Like you read about the Mandalorians?” he guessed, and she gave him a dark look that almost triggered a laugh, and maybe signaled a deeply buried memory somewhere. He _knew_ that look.

“I only know there used to be a lot of them,” she carried on, unfazed. “But now they’re just a legend. A myth, really.”

“There’s still a lot I need to find out, but I know where to start,” he realized just as she opened the door slowly. “I come to Nevarro regularly for work,” Din added just before he took his first step outside.

“You’re a bounty hunter,” she said, although there was no judgment in her tone.

“Yes, I am,” he replied simply. “Is that okay if… I come back? Next time I’m here?”

Haza was visibly startled that he would ask, but _of course_ he was going to make sure it was okay with her beforehand. He wouldn’t force her if she felt too uncomfortable.

“That would be fine,” she told him, her tone once more unreadable, but she seemed troubled as they were saying a quick goodbye, and Din felt similarly confused.

Was this supposed to be how this went? Two siblings discovering each other’s existence after 30 years? Wishing each other ‘good night’ and parting as if they were mere acquaintances? Was it normal that he felt like turning back a dozen times as he was slowly making his way to the Crest, his son tightly held against his chest? That he had the sudden urge to renounce his oath and spend the rest of his life with them to make sure they were safe instead? Even if he had only met them an hour ago? Share his face with his sister as she had asked and see her with his own eyes? See her children?

Din was still plagued with doubts as he put the little one to bed. He had to convince himself he _would_ see them again. Soon. But first, he needed to have some of his questions answered. His sister had raised too many issues he didn’t know how to deal with. And for that, he needed to bite the bullet and see his tribe again. Consult with his Alor. She was the only one he could turn to. And deep down, he already knew he probably wouldn’t like what she had to tell him. He just didn’t expect things to turn quite so _bad_.

The journey took most of the next day, which gave him time to center his thoughts and focus on what was truly important after he had allowed himself a few hours of rest. He had to move on from the events on Nevarro that had led to the death of several of his peers. But he also needed to give voice to his doubts: why hadn’t the Alor reached out to him in the last year? Why had she sent him in pursuit of such an unattainable goal in the first place? He’d grown attached to the boy, there was no doubt about it. And day after day, setback after setback, his resolve to find his species crumbled just a little bit more. As long as the Empire remained, no matter how small or moribund it had become, the child was never going to be safe. Mythical sorcerers, whether he found them or not, weren’t going to change that. But was he just as bad as Death Watch, then? Giving up before he had even really tried to find his home?

“Boo?”

He had been in the process of feeding the little one when his thoughts had wandered off again. They would be arriving soon and he’d need to disengage the autopilot.

“Sorry,” Din said automatically, spooning more food for him. He felt bad for having been unable to focus much on his needs lately. He should have at least spoken more to him, as his vocabulary remained awfully limited even after a year in his company. It would be great if he could at least say _buir_ completely, although the ‘Boo’ had started to grow on him.

That was another thing he felt so uncertain about – was he supposed to raise him, _properly_ raise him, or was he to expect that his family, wherever and whoever they were, would take care of it? But in that case, should he dedicate all his time to find them and thus stop working for the Guild and amassing credits diligently? Those were three different jobs, and he felt like he was doing none of them right at the moment and it made him mad.

Once he was done feeding the boy, he took him in his arms and forced himself to talk to him. As usual, the child listened to him avidly and gripped his cloak tightly. His huge curious eyes reminded him of his nephew once more, and it was motivation enough to take him back to the pilot seat and start the landing sequence.

He had sent word to the Alor that he was on his way, and had received an answer almost immediately, carefully worded to let him know how to reach the Covert and not giving anything away regarding how his absence had been felt. Din was still in a strange mood when they touched down, but realized that his mind had already been partly made up when he grabbed half the credits he had amassed in the last year and left the rest in their hiding place on the Crest.

Word must have spread that he had come to speak to the Alor, because he wasn’t stopped on his way to the armory. He felt eyes linger on himself and his charge, who’d stuck out his head from the bag, but there was no animosity in the air that he could feel. Granted, he had rarely been challenged by his peers back on Nevarro, as he had always preferred to keep to himself, but a weight lifted from his shoulders nonetheless, and he was pleased to see a decent amount of kids running around.

“Din Djarin,” greeted the Alor when he entered her domain. “It is good to see you.”

Din nodded, and noted that she seemed to have a lot of armor parts to busy herself with. The tribe was thriving.

“And I see you haven’t managed to reunite your foundling with his kind,” she added, and Din tried not to take offense.

“No, they are not easy people to find,” he offered flatly.

“You must persevere,” she replied, then sat down at a low table so that they could talk more easily without a furnace separating them. Din copied her movement. The child was very still in his bag – attentive but cautious, much like him.

He didn’t know where to start and it seemed the Alor was well aware of that fact, as she didn’t press him regarding his lack of progress in finding the Jedi.

“I assume you are here because you have questions,” she inferred, and Din had to remind himself that she wasn’t Alor for nothing.

“I want to know more about Death Watch,” he asked immediately, surprising himself. Surely his other doubts regarding his role in the tribe or what he was to do about his foundling should have been more pressing. But his sister’s shared memories had weighed heavily on his mind. And her very understandable misgivings regarding his Creed.

“You do know there has been no news of them since the Siege of Mandalore, they disappeared,” the Alor replied, unperturbed that he would ask such a question.

“I meant before the Siege. What they did.”

“When they rescued you?”

“That time period, yes,” he confirmed, not linking how the word ‘rescued’ sounded anymore, and it took her a few seconds this time to reply.

“The situation was…complicated,” she started, her words coming with more difficulty than usual. “They were a splinter group, and some of their acts might have been reprehensible, but…”

“What did they do exactly?” Din pressed, interrupting his Alor for the first time and not caring. He was owed answers.

The Armorer made no comment regarding his tone, but didn’t say anything for a while. When she spoke again, her voice had taken an edge Din couldn’t decipher, but he felt the child grow restless against him.

“I take it you found her, then.”

Din froze. Surely she wasn’t talking about…

“What do you mean?”

“The woman on Nevarro who has a son sharing your name,” she replied, and Din felt his hands clenching into fists.

“You know about her? That she is my sister?” he asked, voice rising.

“I assumed that was the case, yes.”

“How long have you known?” he asked in a breath, but she refused to give him a direct answer.

“I was told there was a child on Nevarro who had your name, and when I saw him with my own eyes I realized he looked like you, as far as I could recall, so I had to investigate.”

“Because you thought he was _my_ child?” Din asked in disbelief.

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone from our tribe…erred, and we would have dealt with it.”

Din was very tempted to ask what she meant by that, but knew he probably wouldn’t like the answer.

“And how did you find out he wasn’t mine?” he pushed, his anger barely held in check, and still the Alor didn’t rebuke him, as if she knew very well he wasn’t the one in the wrong, here.

“We looked into it,” she replied simply and he almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“So the whole tribe knew I still had a sister except me?” he marveled in consternation, his temper flaring just a bit more, and the boy started to whimper.

“Not the whole tribe, only a few people. We just had to make sure – ”

“And then hide her from me? Hide _them_? For what possible reason? You _knew_ I had no memory of my time before I was taken in by the Mandalorians,” he exploded, standing up.

The Alor stayed seated and her shoulder lowered slowly. Din could hear her take a deep breath and hold it in. Had he finally stepped over the invisible line? Was she going to reprimand him? Tell him to go? Ignore him for a whole year again?

“Boo…” complained the boy, and Din forced himself to regain his composure, for the kid’s sake at least. He placed a trembling hand over his small shape and willed his wildly beating heart to slow down.

“Did she tell you why she was on Nevarro? Why she escaped the previous planet she was living on?” she asked calmly and with newfound poise.

“Her husband died,” Din replied, frowning. _Where was she going with this?_

“Did she tell you how? And what he did?”

“He died during the war, she said. He was a mechanic,” he answered automatically.

“So she chose not to tell you that he worked for the Empire, then,” she concluded, and Din was very careful not to startle at her revelation.

“ _Everybody_ worked for the Empire,” he countered, because it was true. There weren’t a lot of jobs available and you had to make concessions at the time to earn your keep. Especially when you had a family to feed.

“Still, I do not believe she was…” and here she faltered, not finding the right word, but Din had a pretty good idea.

“Suitable? For a Mandalorian? Because her husband worked for the Empire?”

“Need I remind you who was responsible for the Purge?” she retaliated, her composure finally starting to slip.

“After what Death Watch did? After Mandalore fell and we were forced to follow their backward precepts and hide ourselves from the world and from each other?”

The Armorer had finally stood up and Din knew their conversation was at an end. And yet, neither of them had any idea what they were supposed to do next. They had reached an impasse, unable to make the other understand what they felt. And it saddened Din more than anything else. The balance in his life had shifted, but he didn’t know yet where he could find it again.

The child emitted a mournful sound, and he realized it was the only tangible thing he could now hold onto. The only thing he could have a positive effect on. He would take care of this child, and do what was best for him. But it remained to be seen whether it meant looking for his kind or not. And that gave him pause. Perhaps the Mandalaorians who had rescued him had been right after all. Perhaps the only way forward was to let go of one’s past.

“You have a choice to make, Djarin,” the Alor uttered, standing straight in front of him, head held high. And she didn’t have to spell it out for him – Din realized she was right.

“I know,” he replied, then put the credits he had brought with him on the table before leaving, the other half waiting for him on his ship. The other half he would keep for himself.


	3. Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your comments and kudos! And oops, looks like this actually needs one more chapter...

Din didn’t know where to start.

He rushed back to the Crest, still shaking in quiet rage, his child softly mewling in complaint, and took off as fast as humanly possible, destination unknown. For now, the empty void of space would be enough – and probably preferable. Until he calmed down. Or until he got a better idea of what he was supposed to do.

His first impulse was to go back to Nevarro. See his sister and her children again. Let her help him figure out what he should do with that overwhelming sense of betrayal currently smothering everything else inside him. Who better than a person who hated Mandalorians at this very moment? Let her spew rage at his Creed, at his tribe, at his Alor, and most of all at _himself._

But he realized after a while that it would probably end with him breaking his oath, and he wasn’t quite there yet.

He next started thinking about Sorgan. He’d caved in and gone twice in the last year. One time right after he’d learned Gideon had survived and he’d felt particularly despondent, and the second following an encounter with a target that hadn’t gone as planned and left him in need of a place to heal without having to worry that he wasn’t taking care of his charge properly. One look at the child – ears drooped, eyes mournful even after he’d offered him his favorite treat in apology – and he almost set the coordinates.

And yet, his hand stopped again. Whatever he was currently going through, he shouldn’t burden anyone else with. And not only that: this was something he was supposed to deal with on his own. He was the only one who could hope to make sense of the shambles his life had become. The only one who had the power to _decide_ what his sister’s existence and the Armorer’s revelations meant for him. For the very first time, he could _choose_ what to do.

His mind rejected that frankly _terrifying_ prospect and he remained at war with himself for several days.

He automatically gravitated towards the things he did know and did best: hunting targets. He didn’t even have to _think_ , most of the time. It was second nature. And if his punches hit a little harder and his blaster fired a little faster, then it was just one more way to _cope_. The kid didn’t particularly enjoy him fighting dirty and Din had to prevent him from trying to heal his various scrapes and bruises much more forcibly than usual, but the result was there: the carbonite bay was full in one week instead of the usual three or four.

After having fulfilled that mission and stupidly proven to himself he was still a very capable Mandalorian and bounty hunter, he decided to try to make it up to the boy. They spent a couple of days on Ergat 4, which boasted one of the largest marketplaces in the Mid Rim, and the little one seemed to soak up the colorful sights, fragrant smells and various alien languages they heard, his head swiveling at crazy degrees from his bag and grin very much catching.

Din even bought a few things, as he had both the certainty of his soon-to-be delivered assets, and half the credits he had collected over the last year to rely on. Day after day, his decision to keep it from his tribe felt more and more warranted in his mind. His anger hadn’t exactly abated, but it had reached a level that allowed him to turn it off for a little while. When he needed to think. Sleep. Or read a book to his foundling, one of the acquisitions made on Ergat 4 that pleased the boy the most.

He should have thought about it sooner, really. He knew he wasn’t much of a talker and that the child would have a hard time picking up Basic, let alone Mando’a, from him. So reading him stories turned out to be the answer he was looking for. In the almost two days it took them to reach Nevarro again, he’d read about 10 stories out of the hundred the book held. Not because of lack of time – but because the boy always asked for the same ones. Din was pretty sure as they were touching down that he could quote some of them in his sleep, word by word. Still, he didn’t regret that time they spent together, and hoped it had put him in the right mood to face Haza again.

It was hard to say if she was happy to see him or merely surprised that he was back so soon, but she didn’t hesitate to open the door for him and his son and offered them a warm meal again. Haza explained she was just back from her market stall where she sold garments and fabrics and her children were still at a neighbor’s who looked after them in the morning. Din therefore thought it was the perfect moment to give her the gift he had bought for her on Ergat 4.

“I’m guessing you have a lot already, but I thought the colors were nice,” he told her, handing her a few balls of yarn in various colors. No red though, he had remembered that.

“Th-thank you,” replied Haza, accepting his gift just as awkwardly as he had given it. “They do look very nice.”

“I got the kids something, too. It’s just a story book, don’t worry,” he immediately added. “I noticed you had a lot of books here, so I hope you don’t have it already.”

Din had gotten it at the same time as the one for his foundling. The stories were a bit more complex and he thought her children would enjoy them more. Din liked the fact that she still had books – most people used holo technology now, but he relished holding the actual object in his hands.

“It’s mostly boring old history books,” Haza shrugged. “But I do like collecting them,” she admitted, one corner of her mouth turning up slightly in the semblance of a smile.

The kids were very excited to see him again, and his boy became the center of attention during the afternoon, which clearly pleased him immensely. He hadn’t spent much time with Neela during his previous visit, and she was even less cautious than her brother in the way she treated him, which he found refreshing.

“Din says you both have the same name,” the five year-old said very seriously, sitting so close to him on the cushions he could see the green flecks in her eyes. But her he didn’t mind.

“I do,” he replied in the same tone.

“Why?”

“Because your mom decided to name him Din, too.”

“Why?”

“Because she liked the name I guess? You should ask her,” he suggested, hoping the boy’s next word after ‘Boo’ would be ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

“But you can’t have the same name,” she frowned.

“Why not?” he asked, but turning the tables on her didn’t stop her inquisitive mind long.

“Because it’s strange,” the little girl declared.

 _Stranger than suddenly finding out that you have an uncle?_ he wanted to ask her, but didn’t.

“Well, your mom has a brother named Din, and you have a brother named Din, it’s not that strange,” he reasoned. Neela seemed to ponder his reply for a while, then unceremoniously put the book he had just gifted her and Din on his lap, changing the subject altogether.

“Read us a story,” she demanded, and he saw the little one’s ears perk up from where he was currently being fed small pieces of cake by Haza.

“Yeah,” agreed his nephew, who Din had thought maybe too old for such a gift, but had immediately started perusing the pages earlier before his sister complained and took the book from him. He came to sit on his other side – not as close as Neela though – and his boy shuffled in his direction and raised his arms in a gesture he knew well by now.

Din sighed, but Neela’s smile as he read the volume made up for it – her eyes crinkled in joy and she praised him for having ‘a really great scary voice’.

He stayed for a second meal but left before the children got ready for bed this time, his own kid almost asleep and already curled around his favorite blanket in his bag.

“You’re good with them,” said Haza on the doorstep. “Children.”

It hadn’t been said in praise. She had just stated a fact nonchalantly.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s just easier for me with children than with adults, that’s all.”

“That’s a good thing,” she replied, and this time it sounded like a compliment. “You can’t fake it with children. But you can with adults.”

“Is it okay if I come back next time I’m here?” he asked again, just to be sure, and she nodded, wishing him goodnight.

He realized as he was slowly making his way back to the Razor Crest that they hadn’t mentioned the Mandalorians once. And he hadn’t even thought about his tribe or the Alor. Idly, he wondered if the reason he connected so easily with children was because it was the only way for him to reach out to the part of him that had remained on the Aq Vetina’s settlement, aged seven.

Din stayed on this course for a while: hunting targets for the Guild and visiting his sister every few weeks when he came back to Nevarro to unload his carbonite hold. He also used his credits more systematically, had repairs he had put off for a while done on his ship, got better food for him and the boy when he could, brought back more gifts. Old books for his sister, which she always treated with reverence, toys for the kids or strange trinkets he had found on far-away planets, which always had to come with the stories on how he had found them in the first place. More practical things for the house as well, like a back-up generator or a better boiler. Haza had a harder time accepting those items, but Din was adamant. Just as he had been adamant that she should keep a blaster around and know how to shoot properly.

“I know how to shoot,” she had grumbled on that day, as they were observing the children playing outside.

“Show me then,” Din had asked, handing her a weapon.

Haza sighed, huffed, then proceeded to fire six shots in a row directly above his head, aiming straight and true for the already wonky chimney on the roof. It took a few seconds for Din’s brain to start functioning again.

“Why don’t you keep a blaster in the house if you know how to shoot like that?” he wondered in disbelief.

“I don’t need a blaster,” she countered.

“I’m gonna give you a blaster,” he said, putting an end to that conversation and walking back inside, missing his sister’s grin.

The next time he was there he decided he would feel safer if Haza also knew how to pilot his ship. She admitted she was a lot more rusty with that, but didn’t dissuade him in his endeavor and her kids were thrilled at the quick trip they took off world. They went through the basics, and although her landing skills left a little to be desired, she was a quick study and what she had learned years ago easily came back to her.

Neela and Din kept talking about their trip – which frankly had only amounted to leaving the atmosphere for a little while – as he walked them back to their house. It was later than when they usually parted, and Haza urged her children inside after they had said a cheerful ‘goodbye’ to him and his boy, who waved at them drowsily from his arms.

“Thanks for today,” she told him on the doorstep. It was probably the sixth or seventh time he was visiting, but it was the first time he realized her eyes did the same thing as her daughter when she smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he replied automatically.

“Seeing the pride in their eyes when they realized that their mom could pilot a ship it’s…” but she stopped there and Din thought he understood. Maybe it was somehow similar to the warmth that had spread in his chest the past few weeks each time the boy had used a new word (thankfully not ‘why’ yet, though).

“Yeah,” he agreed, before they went their separate ways, the memory of her warm hazel eyes safe in his mind once more, for the first time in thirty years. He wouldn’t let it go. He wouldn’t forget it again.

The next time he visited, his sister was visibly excited about something and asked him to join her in the kitchen while the children played in the next room.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I think I found something useful in one of the old volumes you brought back,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he frowned.

“You never read them before you hand them to me, right?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. “I just make sure they’re in Basic and that they seem to be the kind of content you like. History, chronicles, that kind of things. It is, right?” he wondered, suddenly unsure.

“It is, thank you,” she replied quickly. “But look,” she added, picking a large volume from the table. “Read that part.”

“ _Members of the species are small in size, comparable to that of a human child, with green skin, large eyes, and long pointed ears,_ ” Din read, then stopped himself. “You think that’s…”

“It does sound like him, right?”

“What else does it say?” Din wondered frantically, quickly perusing the other paragraphs and pages.

“Not much,” Haza replied regretfully as he continued to scan the text for more clues. “Only that there were very few members of this species in the galaxy. It doesn’t say where their homeworld is located.”

Din sighed and tried to focus on the fact that it was more than what he had known about the little one’s origins a minute ago.

“But there is another chapter that might be interesting here,” his sister continued, taking the book back from him. “ _Belonging to a mysterious species, Jedi Master Yoda, though small in stature, has already undertaken the training of thousands of Jedi, a training that started when he felt ready to share what he had learned, at the age of 100,_ ” she quoted.

“The book talks about the Jedi?” Din marveled.

“Yes, a little, but it dates back centuries, so anything in there is quite old already,” she remarked. “Still, that Yoda could be the same species, right?”

“ _Started training other Jedi at 100_. So it would mean that fifty years from now the kid would be an adult,” he realized.

That gave him pause. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be dead by then, and not of old age, as it was a pretty rare outcome for Mandalorians. He’d always known the boy would outlive him by centuries, but that also meant the next fifty years would see him grow up much more quickly. And that if they remained together he might…well, not see him become an adult perhaps, but at least be there when he grew up. Evolved. Maybe he could even teach him some of the things he knew. He had never expected it would be possible, and had instead focused on the fact he would need to part from him sooner rather than later.

But he had no way of knowing if he was indeed of the same species as this Jedi, as the book didn’t make it clear. Maybe he was just wishing for something that wasn’t there.

“Din?” Haza asked, seeing that he was lost in thought.

“You think he could still be alive? That Yoda?”

“It’s possible,” his sister agreed. “But the book is several centuries old. Back when a lot of texts weren’t immediately holo-transcribed. That’s why I like them so much. All those old books – they talk of times that would remain mysteries if not for them.”

They both stayed silent for a while, Din wondering if he should visit Chandrila, the capital of the New Republic, and finally get some answers. But he’d always avoided Core planets as a Mandalorian, and now doubly so with a hunted baby. It just wasn’t safe for either of them. And yet, if he ever wanted to reunite the kid with his family, he’d probably have to find a way.

“Could you stay here with Neela for an hour or so? I need to take Din to the medic and she hates going there,” Haza suddenly asked him, rushing through her words.

“Is Din okay?” he immediately asked.

“He’s fine,” she quickly replied. “He just needs some booster shots.”

“Of course, no problem,” he told her and she seemed both relieved and surprised at the same time, before masking her emotions expertly once again.

When he found himself sitting on the cushions in the living room with the two remaining children, he realized it was the first time she trusted him alone with one of her kids. He refocused on the story he was reading them rather than on what it made him feel.

Still reeling from what they had learned in the book, he remembered there was something he had never attempted to do, when Din came back complaining about the shots he had received and his sore arm. He needed to cut his visit short unfortunately, as he had to start looking immediately, and use the momentum he had gained.

He told Haza he might be away for a while, and she urged him to be careful before they parted, having sensed she had caused this sudden change in him with what she had found out. Din realized it was also the first time she made a remark about his well-being, but there again he had to force himself to ignore what it meant: he needed to focus, as he was back on the hunt. But not for a target, this time. For a doctor who could hopefully tell him more about his child. A doctor who turned out to be difficult to find, but not as difficult as the Jedi. And not for a seasoned bounty hunter like himself.

“Don’t shoot!” the doctor pleaded, arms raised, and Din almost had to laugh. It seemed he would continue to evoke the same kind of fear in the small bespectacled man.

The man and his lab had required weeks of careful investigation to find. And now that he had finally cornered him on that Outer Rim icy planet, the last thing he wanted to do was shooting him. He had shot enough people along the way to get there.

“I’m not here to kill you, I’m here for answers. But you _will_ talk to me,” he demanded, keeping his blaster aimed at his head.

“Okay, okay!” Pershing yelled, arms still above his head and visibly shaking.

Din had a quick look around the place – the lab didn’t look like much. Messy, cold, badly lit, with wires running everywhere and plugged into a noisy generator that had seen too many winters on the planet. He tried not to linger on the content of some jars on a top shelf, and instead refocused on the doctor.

“I don’t work for the Empire anymore, I escaped!” he said.

“No one escapes the Empire,” Din replied coldly. “But it seems they haven’t found you. Yet.”

And it was true enough, as he would have smelled them otherwise during his methodical search. Pershing whimpered but slowly lowered his arms, accepting that he wouldn’t be shot right this minute. He had also noticed the kid, who was cautiously looking out from his bag, now that the loud noises had stopped. He didn’t seem to react to the doctor’s presence, and Din breathed a sigh of relief, as he had been afraid he would somehow remember him and what he had put him through.

“You…you still have the asset?” marveled Pershing, who approached them cautiously, unable to resist.

“Stay back!” warned Din, who hadn’t lowered his blaster. “And sit over there,” he urged, pointing at a chair a safe distance away.

“Now answer my questions, who is he?” he asked, without having to specify who he was talking about, as the doctor’s eyes widened.

“You don’t know?”

“I know he could live for centuries and that he has powers the Jedi used to have,” replied Din, piqued.

“He is a Force user,” said Pershing, and Din made a note of the word for further research.

“But where is he from? His species?” he pressed.

“No one knows,” the small man replied, and Din’s shoulders lowered slightly in disappointment.

“But he must have a family somewhere, parents…”

“Not necessarily,” interjected Pershing, who seemed strangely eager to talk about the subject, his eyes now focusing on the child rather than on the blaster.

“Explain.”

“That’s what the Empire wanted me to do – isolate his genome, so that we could reproduce it. But his midi-chlorian count was just inconceivable and prevented us from doing anything. It was so high they destroyed all our samples, attacking them from the inside.”

“Who destroyed what?”

“His midi-chlorians. They are a microbe, really,” he explained, clearly in his element and relishing having a public for once. “Tiny intelligent lifeforms that live in our cells. In Force-sensitive kids, their numbers are higher. But in him… Frankly, there were so many that it’s very likely they are the ones who created him in the first place.”

“That’s impossible,” Din replied, refusing to believe it.

“It wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” continued the doctor, unperturbed by his outburst.

“You were gonna destroy him,” Din reminded him darkly.

“No, I was trying to protect him. He is…a wonderful enigma, and I would have loved to study him more.”

Din swallowed hard and made sure his blaster was still aiming true – he didn’t like those words at all, they made him sick.

“The Empire wanted to destroy him when they realized nothing could be gained from him – if _they_ couldn’t have him, then no one else could.”

“He is a _child_!” Din couldn’t help but blurt out. “And I will find his species.”

“The Empire also looked for them. All they found was this child. There was word about another, a Jedi Master.”

 _Yoda_ , thought Din, but remained silent.

“And?” he pressed.

“And he died, apparently. Although recently, which would have made him almost a thousand years old.”

Din couldn’t help but look down at the little one, sitting quietly and guardedly in his bag with his ears poking out. _A thousand years old!_ What could he hope to accomplish for him? He would be a blip in his existence.

“Boo, go,” the boy said, signaling he wanted to leave, but that helped him refocus on the task at hand, and realize that maybe – just maybe – he could make a difference in his life, given all his recent progress with his communication skills. But there was something else he needed from the doctor before they left.

“Nothing is stopping me from killing you now, or telling the Empire where you are,” he reminded Pershing, who seemed to suddenly realize he had never really been in control of this conversation. “But I won’t do either of those things if you prove to me you really want to protect the child.”

“How?” the doctor asked earnestly.

“The Empire will always be after him, and he will always be at the mercy of trackers. Is there a way to stop them from working?”

“He could wear a bio-damper,” Pershing suggested, shrugging.

“They don’t work,” huffed Din, who had come across a lot of targets who’d thought technology would protect them.

“They can work for a while if they are built properly. And I think he could learn to block his signal using the Force. Not right now, but when he is a bit older.”

Din thought about this for a while, and he hoped that he was right, as it would certainly help the boy when he was no longer there to protect him.

“What do you need to build a proper damper?” he asked.

“It needs to be built around something solid. Something that can’t be broken easily,” the small man replied.

“Would beskar work?” Din suggested, having an idea.

“Yes, I think it would work really well,” Pershing agreed with a nod.

As he walked back to the Crest, Din started to feel a little lighter, and he let himself hope that maybe things would be a bit easier moving forward – they had tested the bio-damper, and it had seemed to be working well. He refused to acknowledge that the revelation the kid might not have any family to take him back to was also responsible for his improved mood. This he would need to reexamine more closely. Once he had learned more about the Force. For now, he would try not to regret having spared Pershing’s life, but Din didn’t think he would be stupid enough to reach out to the Empire and tell them where the asset was.

No, as it turned out, Pershing – whatever his intentions – had been outclassed.

There was a message from Greef waiting for him when he arrived onboard. Din hadn’t been on Nevarro for over a month, and he wondered at first if the man simply wanted to learn when he’d be back for more work, but unfortunately, it didn’t turn out to be the case. A small Imperial scouting party had visited the city before being summarily sent away by Greef and other hunters, who outnumbered them easily. But that meant only one thing – more would come, and soon.

Din pestered at the remoteness of the system he was currently trying to leave as quickly as possible – he’d need more than a day to reach Nevarro, and he had no way to reach Haza directly. Something he also berated himself for not having anticipated. Doing his best to remain calm and trying not to imagine the worst – had she been targeted? questioned? were her children okay? – he focused on what was ahead, and made a decision.

The Alor’s words resonated in his mind as he made his choice. He didn’t reach for his tribe for help, but for someone who hated the Empire even more. With any luck, she’d receive his message and meet him on Nevarro. And if she brought some of her friends with her, then all the better.

It was dark when he finally landed. He hadn’t slept for the whole journey despite the autopilot allowing him to do so if he wanted to. And now he rushed along silently in the deserted streets, keeping an eye out for Stormtroopers but not seeing any, the child wide awake in his bag.

There was a small light shining from behind a window despite the late hour when he reached Haza’s house and he allowed himself a sigh of relief. He knocked on the door quietly in case everybody was asleep, but his sister opened the door quickly – just a crack, and he could see she was holding the blaster he had forced her to take in her free hand.

“Din!” she exclaimed, letting him in then locking the door immediately again.

“I’m sorry, I came as soon as I could,” he hastened to say. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she exhaled, but he could see how tensed she actually was. Wavy hair messily tied in a bun and movements frantic.

“Have they come back? The Imps?” he pressed.

“No,” she replied. “But more will be here soon, I know.”

“Yes,” agreed Din. “Did they come here? To the house?”

She nodded and he could tell the memory almost brought tears to her eyes but she managed to hold them back, her chin quivering slightly before she forced herself to take a deep breath. Din could only marvel at the control she had over her emotions, especially at a moment like this. But that meant things would be a lot simpler for him.

“They wanted to know about the child? About me?” he guessed.

She nodded again, stoically.

“I’m so sorry…” he repeated, but she interrupted him quickly.

“It’s my fault too, I should have been more careful, you’re a Mandalorian.”

The word hit like a punch to the gut.

“R-Right,” he said, and Haza looked up towards his visor, her expression softening slightly.

“I didn’t mean it like that…” she hedged.

“No, you’re right,” he acknowledged. “It’s fine.” _But of course it wasn’t._

“You need to go, leave Nevarro for a while. It’s only temporary, I promise,” he carried on, looking around the small house and trying to evaluate how many crates she’d need from his ship to pack up the essentials.

“Din, surely…”

“Listen,” he entreated her, grabbing her shoulders and feeling her tense up at the touch. He quickly released her but didn’t move from his spot in front of her. “There’s going to be a lot more Imps. More than last year, I can promise you. And it’s not gonna be safe for you and the children, especially since they know you have information they want. You are gonna fly the Crest…”

“I am not flying your ship!”

“You are gonna fly the Crest,” he repeated. “And I will set a course for you. Somewhere you’ll be safe until things quiet down out here and I can join you again. Somewhere…” and he gulped down audibly, but he knew he had no choice “…somewhere where you can take my kid too.”

Somehow aware that he was talking about him, the boy emitted a sad coo from his bag, and he placed a hand over his small shape. He had to do everything in his power to protect him, and now that the mythosaur necklace he wore was equipped with a technology that would hide him from the world, he had to agree to part from him.

“Din, this is crazy, I can’t…”

“You can,” he told her. “You can, I know you can.”

She sighed deeply and walked around the room, probably her turn trying to figure out what she needed to pack.

“Most of your books should fit if this is what worries you,” he tried, and a corner of her lips turned slightly upwards. “Your weaving loom, the kids’ stuff, it’s gonna work, I promise.”

“And what’s this place you have in mind for us?” she asked, not quite convinced yet but getting there.

“Somewhere peaceful, somewhere no one will find you.”

“If I am to do this,” Haza said, approaching slowly and looking straight into his eyes despite the visor separating them. “If I am to _trust_ you, then I need you to show me your face, Din.”

He swallowed hard but didn’t have to think long. There again he had already made his choice. And if this was the only way to ensure his family's safety… Din raised his arms and placed his hands on his helmet. He started pulling it up but Haza gripped his wrists tightly.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to do it,” she whispered, the silence surrounding them almost sacred. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Din slowly lowered his arms but she didn’t remove her hands and simply loosened her hold around his wrists.

“You can show it to me later. When this is all over and we’re all safe. When you join us again in that peaceful place you’re sending us to.”

Din nodded slowly, not trusting his voice.


	4. Yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter, finally. Switching point of view for this one, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for your continued support, lovely comments and cheering kudos on this story that was only supposed to be one chapter and that I might revisit one day...

_The last crates had been loaded on the Crest as the sun was just beginning to rise. He had set the destination – Sorgan, she had never heard of it – and her kids were up in the cockpit, pretending they were about to go on a great adventure, uncaring that they had been woken up in haste and asked to pack their belongings._

_Din was anxious, and she could tell his tension was only growing, hour after hour. He kept scanning the horizon for the arrival of Imps, she knew. And this friend he had mentioned, Cara, who would hopefully bring backup._

_“Once you’re at the village, find Omera,” he said. “Tell her you’re my sister. The villagers will look after you and the children. They know the boy already. But Omera is the only one who knows my name.”_

_She didn’t ask him to elaborate and simply nodded. Suddenly, the clearing sky started to darken once more, and she realized that a number of ships were breaching the atmosphere, the smaller ones in the horrible H-shape she knew well._

_“Go, you need to go,” Din urged her, handing her his boy, who complained fiercely at the separation._

_“Come with us,” she uttered before she realized the words were out, the weight of his son in her arms heavier than she had anticipated. “This is stupid, you don’t have to stay, we can all go, we can all be safe.”_

_“I need to stay and you need to leave, now!”_

_“Din, please! I can’t - ”_

Haza woke up.

‘I can’t lose you again’ she had wanted to say, but never had the chance, as he’d pushed her inside the ship and closed the ramp remotely.

She swung her legs over the side of the cot and stood up, her eyes slowly getting used to the darkness. Haza was still unaccustomed to the pitch blackness of the village at night. And how quiet it could get. Nevarro was always bustling with noise and energy and this had meant finding rest here difficult at first, despite how exhausted she was. At least, the children didn’t seem to suffer from the same affliction: she walked around the cozy barn and made out the small shape of the baby in his crib, his tiny breaths slow and steady, and the dark hair of her own son and daughter against the white downy pillows in the other cot. Safe. Peaceful. Exactly like her brother had wanted them.

Haza sighed and made her way outside. There would be no more sleep for her and she didn’t want to wake them as she tossed and turned in her bed. She sat on the small wooden bench next to the door, and tried to figure out how long it would take for the sun to rise. An hour? Two? She was still figuring out this planet and the length of its days. Just as she was still figuring out why everybody was so _nice_ to her. Surely they should have been wary of a stranger arriving with three kids and no good explanation for their presence. And yet…

And yet they had immediately accepted her when they saw the baby in her arms. They already knew him, after all. They asked after the Mandalorian and hoped for his speedy arrival when she told them he had to stay behind. The woman, Omera, had a hard time masking the worry on her face, but seemed relieved when she mentioned he expected this Cara to come to his aid. She’d been the one who offered her the barn, and the little boy obviously knew her and her daughter well.

The only explanation she could come up with to justify this behavior was that Din was _liked_ , here. They didn’t fear the Mandalorian. Not only that, he was apparently some kind of hero. Who had saved their village more than a year ago and had come back a couple of times since. She saw village children actually _pretending_ to be him in their games, with makeshift capes and pierced buckets on their heads.

Haza heard the croaking of amphibians in a nearby pond, the only sound that disturbed the tranquility of the night. She wasn’t sure what they were called here, but Din’s kid was apparently very fond of them, and she’d already had to prevent him from eating a couple in the three days they had been there.

_Three days. Where was he?_

His instructions had been simple regarding his child: under no circumstances should the necklace he wore be removed and he should always remain in sight. In a quieter voice, as the baby clung to his cloak worriedly, somehow aware of his imminent departure, he’d told her about the stories he preferred just before sleep and where his credits were hidden on the ship. He hadn’t taken much before leaving: his jetpack, which she had never seen him use before, some rations and medicine, and the inevitable weapons and ammunitions from his unsurprisingly well-stocked armory.

She made a daily – sometimes twice daily – trek to his ship, stationed nearby. She took the small boy with her, as he seemed to enjoy spending time aboard. Each time, she expected to finally find a message from him waiting for her. Or from that friend of his. Something. _Anything._ But the Razor Crest remained silent, and she tried not to let her eyes roam over what was essentially her brother’s home. The pile of colorful children books looking incongruous in a small recess next to the pilot seat. The surprisingly neatly labeled food containers in the deep freezer. The threadbare but methodically folded clothes above the berth. The two toothbrushes in the fresher, one clearly baring tiny bite marks.

On day five, she searched for the credits he had mentioned. There were a lot more than she had expected for someone who always looked like he was a few hot meals short.

On day six, she checked his clothes and took the ones she could mend back to the barn.

On day seven, she stopped bringing the boy. It was getting too painful to watch him look everywhere for his guardian expectantly.

Haza also grew tired of the villagers’ kind words. What if they were wrong? What if he was never coming back? She knew she would soon have a choice to make – either she used the credits and the ship he had somehow knowingly taught her how to fly and found a new place for her and the three children, or she accepted the people’s offer to build her a house that would be more suitable come the colder season.

“Mom?” her son said as she was sitting in the barn, deep in thought.

As usual, she had found solace in her work. She was finally putting the balls of yarn he had gifted her to good use, and was in the process of stitching new clothes for his little boy – in yellow, she had decided. She was done mending his own clothes, and had been surprised to see that he had sometimes made his own repairs, and quite adroitly.

“Is everything okay, Din? Is your sister with the baby?” she asked him.

It hadn’t taken her long to realize that her children were safe in this place, and she had allowed them a lot more freedom than on Nevarro. A freedom they seemed to relish, as they were full of stories to share each evening before promptly falling asleep, tired from their adventures.

“They’re both with Winta,” her boy confirmed, coming to sit in front of her.

“Is something wrong?” she wondered, seeing the worried look in his eye. But her ten-year old son was a bright child, and he’d already been told once in his life that their living arrangements would be temporary.

“Why is it taking him so long to come back?” he queried seriously. It wasn’t the first time he was asking her that question, but he had never looked so intent before, and had seemed to accept her well-worded platitudes.

“I don’t know, darling,” she replied honestly. “Maybe he’s having a hard time finding transport. This planet is quite secluded and doesn’t have any star port.”

“And there was still no message from him today?”

“No,” she shook her head sadly. “Are you tired of playing outside?” she asked, changing the subject, and the boy shrugged. Haza knew she would soon have to get used to that kind of attitude from him. He was a pensive boy, though not prone to sulking. That being said, he did enjoy spending time on his own and away from his boisterous sister every once in a while.

“Why don’t you write for a bit? I haven’t seen you do that since we arrived.”

“I’m not sure I have any new ideas for a story,” he admitted.

“Really? After being on a ship and travelling through space?” Haza noted, giving him a smile.

“I don’t know much about space travel,” he argued, but she could tell she had piqued his interest.

“Well, now you do a little. Or you could write about those new games the children here have been teaching you.”

“The way they play tag here is weird...”

“Why don’t you write down the rules of the way you are used to play it? Then it will be easier to teach them, I’m sure they’d like that,” Haza reasoned, her fingers going back to stitching.

“Yeah, and I think I could put it into a story. Neela would like that too,” Din said, standing up to grab his notebook.

“I know she would, she loves your stories.” And this time there was a real smile on his face and she wondered if this would be it. If her only glimpse at her brother’s face would be through her son’s. If she had known at the time how bad the situation actually was, she would have insisted he removed his helmet. So that she could have that memory, at least. And not remain wondering. _Was it really him under there?_

Recalling how he had reacted both times when she’d asked to see his face, the first time freezing in fear and the second time buckling under pressure, she looked for some old volumes in one of the crates that evening – Din had insisted she took all her books from the house – once the children were asleep.

She had accumulated quite a lot of texts talking about Mandalorian lore, but she knew that most of them could very well be fiction. Like many cultures, their history was shared and passed on orally, generation after generation. Something she could understand for such a secretive and feared creed of warriors. But that meant a lot of their records could be lost along the way. Or gradually changed to fit the time period.

When she had first read about them as a teenager, with the memory of her slain family and destroyed home fresh in her mind, she had felt nothing but hatred for them and thought ‘good riddance’ at the reported fall of Mandalore. Then later, as a young adult, when she had heard about the persecutions they suffered at the hand of the Empire, she had felt somehow avenged.

Now though, she tried re-reading those texts with a more open mind. And she couldn’t help but feel horror at the thought that her little brother had been through all of this.

_No wonder he couldn’t remember anything from before._

There was nothing about them being forced to hide their faces from the world, though. Which made her wonder if it was a recent change to their Creed. And if that was the case, did that mean that Din hadn’t shown his face to anyone in decades? She hated the idea, but feared it was probably true, given his reaction. Which led us to look for other books. Books she hadn’t touched since she had left the planet of her youth, but had continued to hang onto.

Unable to find sleep afterwards, she wandered outside again, in the hope that the calmness of the night would soothe her nerves.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” immediately said Omera, who was sitting on the bench next to the door, her silhouette and face only visible thanks to the twin moons shining.

“This is your home, you are not intruding,” Haza remarked.

The two women looked uncertain for a second, then Omera moved to the right, leaving enough space for Haza to sit next to her, which she did after careful consideration.

“Is the bedding comfortable enough? I can give you more blankets if…” Omera started.

“No, don’t worry, we are very grateful for all that you have done for us, and everything is more than comfortable, thank you,” Haza replied. “I just couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.

Omera nodded in acknowledgment but stayed silent. Haza liked that about her – despite her obvious familiarity with Din and his child, she was probably the least outspoken villager when it came to the questions they had for her, or their well-meaning but tiresome reassurances that he would soon be back. Maybe that was why she was the only one who knew his name, and he had found a kinship in her. They were definitely both of a quiet but assured disposition.

“I remember how difficult it was for me at first to fall asleep here, everything was so silent and dark,” Omera uttered.

“You weren’t born here?” Haza asked surprised.

“No, but my husband was,” she replied simply, and didn’t offer more on the subject.

Haza wondered if he had also died during the war, but didn’t feel comfortable asking her, as it would potentially lead to difficult questions regarding the circumstances of her own husband’s death.

“I think it’s lovely that you named your son Din,” Omera offered in a quiet voice, as if she feared someone would hear the name pronounced out loud. But she’d been careful not to remark who she had named her son _after_.

“Has he ever shown you his face?” she suddenly asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. She wondered about the state of their relationship given that she knew his name already.

“No,” she quickly replied, eyes wide. “Of course not.” Haza nodded once, but remained preoccupied, and didn’t notice that Omera was looking at her very closely, and was able to come up with her own conclusions, which in her case were spot on.

“He has never shown it to you either?” she marveled in consternation.

“It’s…complicated, we were only recently reunited. I had no idea he’d become a Mandalorian,” she explained.

“But he said the first time he was here that he hadn’t shown his face to anyone since he was a kid… Does that mean you haven’t seen him since then?” Omera realized, then stopped herself from saying more. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Haza sighed, as the woman had confirmed what she had feared – Din hadn’t shared his face with anyone in such a long time, except with his boy. But that was only a recent development. Omera interpreted her loud exhale as reproachful, and she meant to apologize again she could tell, but she had done nothing wrong. She’d been the one who’d actually started making uncouth inquiries.

“He does remove his helmet when it’s just him and the little one,” she uttered to cut her apologies short.

“Yes, he explained that it was because they formed a clan but it…took him a while to do it, apparently. He hadn’t done it yet the first time he came back, and I could tell it bothered him.”

Haza recalled the texts she had just read, and wasn’t surprised, but it broke her heart anew. _What a terrible mess_.

“I hope I haven’t upset you,” Omera said after a long moment of silence.

“You haven’t,” Haza assured her. “I’m just trying to understand him better and it is not proving easy.”

“Mmh,” the other woman agreed, and this time they let the silence stretch without interruption and it felt good to share this moment with her. Eventually, they both stood up, wished each other good night, and went their separate ways.

On day twelve, she had managed to find sleep but was woken up just before dawn by a strange noise. It was coming from the baby’s crib. At first she thought he was having a nightmare, and she approached him slowly, her tone reassuring.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay little one, it’s okay,” she whispered. But despite the darkness she could see that he was standing up and trying to escape his bed – something she knew he was quite capable of doing. He kept repeating the one word he had for his father, ‘Boo’, and she took him in her arms before he made the jump down.

“What is it?” Haza asked him, even though she knew it was no use. And yet, there was another word added to the mix.

“Boo, home… Boo, home…”

And Haza suddenly rushed outside with dawning realization, the child emitting a pleased coo. The sky was beginning to clear and she saw a small arch of flame reaching the village. It was too small to be a ship, and she started running when she remembered that her brother had a jetpack at his disposal. The Mandalorian, wearing his distinctive shiny armor, landed just at the boundary of the forest – awkwardly, though he didn’t appear hurt at first glance.

“Din!” she uttered, out of breath, and much quieter than she had wanted, but he noticed her and the kid immediately and walked in their direction, each step heavy and ungainly. He didn’t collapse when he finally reached her, but it was a close call, his weight relying heavily on her shoulders as he allowed himself the physical contact. Haza didn’t brush him off, far from it, and wished he’d let her help him walk, as it was clearly a struggle, but he pulled away.

“Haza…” he said, equally out of breath, as the little one was all but launching himself from her arms into his, the cacophony of ‘Boos’ reaching a crescendo that only stopped once he was finally physically reunited with his guardian, small claws tight around his neck.

“Are you hurt?” she immediately asked when he winced, and he shook his head.

“No, just tired,” he replied, and she didn’t pressure him for more, although she was having a hard time stopping herself from blurting out all the questions she had for him – first and foremost, why did it take him _twelve days_ to reach them?

“Come and rest,” she entreated as they slowly started to walk in the direction of the barn.

His likely wish for a discreet arrival was soon thwarted though, as the first villagers emerged from their houses, ready to go about their day, and immediately rushed to his side. Haza felt him stand a little taller next to her, shoulders a little straighter – there was no showing weakness to them. He accepted all their warm welcomes with sharp nods, shook hands, grunted approvals when celebrations were suggested… The hero had returned, and he had conformed himself to their expectations. Still, they respectfully left him alone once they had neared the barn, understanding without being told that despite their excitement, he needed rest.

Omera was just exiting her own home, alerted by the unusual clamor. She took one look at him, then frowned.

“You’re hurt,” she said. It wasn’t a question, she just knew. And Haza wished she could hold a similar power over him because he immediately dropped the attitude he had put on for the other villagers and faltered slightly.

“Just my knee and my lower back, but I had time to heal a bit already,” he hedged.

It was clear that she didn’t believe he was telling the whole truth, and Haza could only agree with her. Still, they both knew the only thing he needed right know was to sleep.

“I’ll bring you something to eat and a decoction for the pain,” she replied, and her brother nodded in thanks.

“You can have my cot for now, the children are still going to be asleep for a while,” Haza told him as she led him inside the barn. She had felt him pause at the door, but the baby in his arms seemed intent for him to enter as well, the ‘Boo’ chorus having started again, though thankfully at a lower volume.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” he still asked, slowly making his way inside. When he saw Din and Neela still peacefully asleep in their bed, he stopped in his tracks and exhaled deeply.

“It’s fine,” Haza replied, and she hoped he understood her word encompassed not only this very minute, but the past twelve days as well. _They were all alive, they were all safe_.

Din grunted as he unclipped the jetpack from his back, then gingerly sat at the table without moving for a while. Omera rejoined them and set a tray down, his child stubbornly clinging to his neck still as he started removing various pieces of his armor, slowly, carefully, and with frequent sharp exhales: pauldrons, chestplate, vambrances and cuisses. The helmet he kept on, but she was surprised to see him remove his gloves. His hands looked completely human and normal. Which shouldn’t have surprised her but somehow did. Omera noticed the revealed skin as well, but maybe it wasn’t such a new discovery for her, as she gripped one of his hands tightly, fleetingly, and he returned her touch.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said with a brief but relieved smile before leaving them, “rest well.”

Din gave her another nod, then looked at the plate of food longingly.

“I’ll go get some breakfast for myself,” Haza said, understanding his dilemma. “I can promise you the children won’t wake for at least one more hour, take your time.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, preventing the kid from taking the whole slice of bread for himself, and instead broke a smaller piece, which he accepted with less enthusiasm.

“Do you want me to take him?” she asked, but already knew his answer as he shook his head.

“I’m good,” Din confirmed, and she tried not to focus on how slight and unassuming he seemed without the added bulk of his armor.

When she came back half an hour later, he was fast asleep on her bed, the boy still tucked against his neck, his small claws reaching underneath his helmet. He managed to sleep through the excitement of her children waking up and realizing he was there, midday, late afternoon, and only stirred come evening. Strangely, the baby seemed just as groggy upon waking up, even if he had slept plenty the previous days.

Her brother grumbled when he realized this, but didn’t explain why. He did seem better, though. His movements more determined and his gait less stiff. Din and Neela, who had been patient all day, assaulted him with questions as he started putting his armor back on, and he calmly answered all the ones he could, expertly managing to avoid the ones he couldn’t. The battle itself hadn’t taken that long apparently, and he’d mostly spent his time with his tribe, as he had information to share with them. And then it had taken a little while to find transport to reach Sorgan and avoid being tailed, as she had expected.

Haza wondered what that ‘information’ was and if he would also share it with her. He’d hardly spoken of his tribe since she’d met him six months prior, and she’d gathered that their relationship was strained to say the least.

There was a feast that night to celebrate his return, and she saw him once again skillfully limiting his speech to what was required of him, although the villagers didn’t seem to take offense, and were happy for the excuse to roast meat, drink spotchka, and forget about their daily lives. As was his usual way, he seemed to spend most of his time with the children, and given his tired posture, wouldn’t have minded being sent to bed as well once the sky turned ink black. Omera came to his rescue when she reminded the villagers who surrounded him he still hadn’t eaten, and Haza saw him give her a grateful nod before walking back to the barn with a tray. His son had refused to be put to bed an hour earlier with the other children, but was drowsing on his shoulder, clearly still not completely recovered from his long nap.

Haza excused herself half an hour later, and announced her arrival before entering the barn.

“It’s fine, you can come in,” he replied quietly.

All three children were now asleep, and he was in the process of piling blankets in a corner. The place was getting a bit crowded, but he seemed intent to give them privacy.

“You should take my cot again, you need more rest.”

“It’s just for one night, I’ll go back to the Crest tomorrow.”

“Oh, leaving so soon?” she queried, hoping her tone didn’t betray her sudden apprehension at his words.

“No, I meant…to sleep,” he replied haltingly, frozen on his spot on the floor. “I wouldn’t leave just yet. And not without you. I just thought…we could stay here for a little while? Before I take you back to Nevarro?”

“Is there a Nevarro to go back to, then?” Haza wondered, hoping he’d finally talk to her about what had happened, but refusing to push him too hard just yet.

“Yes, of course. We can leave tomorrow if you want, it’s not a problem,” Din rushed in to say.

“But you’d like to stay here for a bit, you just said,” she remarked pointedly.

“We don’t have to, we can…”

“What do _you_ want?” she interrupted him, curious to hear him speak his mind for once. He never seemed to let himself voice his preferences. And given how even more high-strung he now looked, it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. “It’s completely understandable that you would want to stay for a while. Everybody loves you here, and I’m guessing this is not something you are used to, but it’s okay for you to enjoy it.”

“I’m not sure I really enjoy it…” he hedged, although it was said with humor. “But what I do enjoy is how peaceful it is, here,” he admitted, and finally stopped fidgeting with the blankets at his feet.

“You’re right,” Haza said. “I didn’t know places like these still existed. It’s no wonder you keep coming back. And…” and there she took a deep breath. “And I think we’re going to stay for a bit. I don’t know how long yet, but I just agreed with the villagers that we should start working on a house. They’ve been asking me about it virtually since we arrived.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“There’s nothing waiting for us on Nevarro, and the children are happy here. I’m not saying we’ll stay forever but…just until we want something else. They can use a seamstress and I can sell my work at the marketplace. I’ve always preferred making children’s clothes and I can actually do that here.”

“That…that’s true,” Din agreed. “You’re certain that’s okay? I haven’t forced you to choose this place or…”

“For the first time in my life I feel like I can pick the place where I want to live. And right now, here is what’s best for me and my children. It’s a lot better than Nevarro. A lot better than Nuuka before that. I don’t feel judged. I don’t feel like I have to justify my existence or…”

And she stopped, because Din was nodding intensely in understanding, even though she had revealed a bit too much about herself.

“Anyway, don’t rush your departure and stay with us for a while I’m…gonna go get ready for bed,” she quickly added before rushing outside to freshen up and hopefully calm down.

A few days passed languidly. Din rested, then started helping on the wooden framework of what would become her home. His kid, now wearing his new yellow outfit Din warmly thanked her for, rarely agreed to leave the bag he used to carry him around, and he was back on story time duty each evening, which meant he had been unable to relocate to his ship – a fine outcome, as far as she was concerned.

Anytime they found themselves alone though, she could tell something was troubling him. And it took her a while to realize he expected her to make good on his promise and ask him to remove his helmet. Haza felt silly for not having put two and two together sooner, and eyed the pile of books she had kept on reading late into the night when everybody was asleep guiltily.

She finally found the courage to corner him one evening – all three children were spending the night at Omera’s – and when he immediately tensed up when he returned from an unnecessary perimeter check and found her not in bed but casually sitting at the table, she almost changed her mind.

_But this was too important._

“I never told you about how I learned to sew,” she started, putting the finishing touches on a pair of trousers she was mending.

“You just said you learned with our aunt,” Din replied, his head cocked to the side – he hadn’t expected the conversation to go that way.

“Sae, yes. She’d just gotten married to dad’s youngest brother, we barely knew her yet. But she became all that was left of our family following the attack. She was awfully young, I realize that now, and she truly did her best.”

“And she was a seamstress?” Din pressed, when he saw she wouldn’t continue. Haza hadn’t imagined it would be so hard to talk about it.

“Yes, and sewing became the only way we really communicated sometimes, you know? It’s like we were in harmony, and I learned so much from her,” she recalled haltingly.

Her hands had stopped moving over the garment, and Din came to sit in front of her at the table, sensing her distress. He didn’t say anything, but his closeness was welcome and appreciated.

“Tell me something nice about your childhood. A good memory,” she requested, preferring to change the subject for now. Surprisingly, Din didn’t stay silent for long.

“There’s this game we used to play. _Get’shuk_. It’s basically two teams who have to score goals on either side of a pitch by passing a ball. But it can get a bit…intense. You’re pretty much allowed to do anything to get to that ball.”

“Sounds like the perfect Mandalorian game,” Haza agreed with a huff, but she felt a bit lighter already.

“I wasn’t very reassured at first because the other kids seemed massive compared to me. I was always picked among the last players when they made teams and I didn’t blame them. But the first time I somehow got the ball in my hands… I just ran for it, as fast as I could, and hoped I wouldn’t be crushed to death…” She tried not to cringe and let him continue.

“And…to my own surprise, I’d made it to the goal! Easily. And it kept happening. Sure, I got tackled and pummeled half the time, but when I was close enough to the goal post, I’d score. I was the fastest kid. The fastest runner. I was always chosen among the first players after that.”

“It’s a nice story,” she confirmed, although she’d had her doubts at first. She definitely wished she could see his face at the moment, but he’d gotten so involved retelling her that memory, his hands miming the action all along, that she was pretty sure he was also smiling under there.

“And you are to wait several years before you teach that game to my kids,” she added for good measure, and she thought she heard him guffaw then hide the sound with a cough.

“Why did you want to tell me about our aunt?” he eventually asked, and she remembered that although her brother could stay silent for a very long time if he wanted to, he could still recollect everything that had been mentioned, and most importantly _how_. He had known she had an ulterior motive when she started that conversation.

“We were able to hide when the attack happened,” Haza therefore continued, a bit more energized. “Keen, our uncle, Sae’s husband, found us a good spot. An old house that was already in ruins but had strong foundations. He sacrificed himself for us, really…” she recalled. “I just sat against a wall, closed my eyes and covered my ears, waiting for it all to stop. But Sae didn’t. She kept her eyes open. She saw everything. Her husband dying. The massacre. The aftermath. Everything. She didn’t speak for days. And rarely spoke again.”

“I’m…sorry,” Din said, uncomfortable.

“She was still alive, you know. We found a place to live outside the city with other survivors and she would still cook for the both of us and eat and bathe and everything else. But she was only half there...” Haza described. “She gradually got better when she started weaving and sewing again. She’d talk to me a bit. But every once in a while she would regress to that state. And have terrible nightmares at night. I was twelve, I had no idea what was wrong with her, but I tried to look for an answer. To help her.”

“In books,” he surmised correctly once again, and she nodded.

“In books,” she confirmed. “That’s when I started collecting them. Aq Vetina used to have this huge library. Mom worked there, actually. People salvaged whatever hadn’t been destroyed, and I did find texts that were useful.”

“What did you learn?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“The books were old but what they talked about was really universal. Emotional wounds leading to psychological injuries. That’s what had happened to her. She was no different from the people who survived the attack but lost a leg or an eye. I think it was worse for her because there was no physical trace. She was…caught in a loop, reliving that day over and over again,” a deep breath. “And you…you forgot everything. And replaced that emptiness with something else.”

Din was utterly still. It was close to impossible to guess what he felt at the best of times, but now it was almost as if he had simply frozen in place. She wasn’t even certain he was breathing, although the sound of her wildly beating heart covered everything else, and pressed against her eardrums. She’d pushed him too hard, it had been a mistake…

“Replaced with what?” he asked in an empty voice. He didn’t sound accusing or threatening, but she knew she had to tread carefully.

“With something you were probably not in the right mindset to refuse,” Haza tried.

“You mean my Creed,” Din replied blankly.

“You were seven. Two years older than Neela is right now. Can you imagine…”

“I don’t have to imagine Haza, I was there,” he interrupted her harshly this time.

“I’m not trying to pick up a fight Din, I’m just…” she sighed. “Those books _helped_ me, and I think they could help you too. I’m not trying to change you or say that what you did was wrong.”

She pushed the old volumes towards him on the table – she had left marks on the relevant pages.

“You don’t have to read them. But they’re here if you ever want to,” she said simply then stood up, leaving him to his thoughts as she got ready for bed.

Din remained seated for a long time. The next morning, the books were no longer on the table.

He was subdued the following days, and spent most of his time helping out on her house, which at least told her he wasn’t irrevocably angry with her. He would still read stories to the kids every evening, or stayed with the baby when her son wanted to tell one of his instead, but afterwards he would go for some walks on his own or sit outside to have long discussions with Omera, late into the night, which were too quiet for her to hear, and which she didn’t want to disturb anyway. He did seem more at peace after those talks, so she hoped it meant he was finding his way back.

The books suddenly reappeared one morning, and Haza took it as his way to let her know he’d read them.

The roof was finally up on her new home, and the children had begged to spend the night there on their own with a few other kids from the village, who’d marveled at all the new free space. Since the space wouldn’t remain free for long, she had accepted. Somehow fittingly, Din was the one waiting for her at the table that evening – it was his turn wanting to talk.

He had removed most of his armor in an effort to look less threatening, and she appreciated it. If this turned out to be the closest she’d ever physically get to see her brother, then she’d take it, and wouldn’t ask for more.

“I never really told you what happened on Nevarro and afterwards,” he started with, there again mirroring her own approach several days prior.

“I assumed you’d tell me in your own time,” she replied, sitting down.

“It didn’t go as bad as I expected.”

“It looked pretty bleak when we left,” she recalled.

“Backup showed up.”

“You friend Cara?” she surmised, and he nodded.

“Not only her, but New Republic ships as well, which didn’t really please me at first, but they do have the firepower.”

“They warded them off?”

“Warded them off, killed them, I didn’t much care to be honest, there was only one person I wanted to find.”

“That Moff you mentioned to me, who was after the Baby?” Haza asked.

“Gideon, yes,” he confirmed.

“And did you?” she pushed, when he stayed silent.

“Find him? Yeah. Kill him, unfortunately not, the coward ran for it when he realized the child wasn’t with me or hidden somewhere else on the planet. But at least I got confirmation that his bio-damper actually works.”

He’d explained how the necklace he wore operated, and she had been doubtful it would remain effective, but maybe that was why he still did regular perimeter checks.

“And what was it that made you reach out to your tribe afterwards? You mentioned some information you found out about?” Haza pressed, her curiosity once again getting the better of her.

“A weapon Gideon wielded. One that historically belongs to the Mandalorians and should come back to us. It’s an important symbol, and the fact that he has it with him…it could mean a lot of things, none of them good, especially for a former ISB officer.”

“He was involved in the Purge?” Haza understood, and her brother nodded slowly. Maybe one day she’d ask him more questions about that time period.

“What have you decided to do? Are you allowed to tell me? You stayed with your tribe for a long while…”

“I was also injured during the battle, and needed some time to heal. They provided treatment for me and were helpful.” Haza resisted pointing out that it was the least they could do for him. “I had long talks with the Alor, our leader, and other members of the tribe. I want to be involved in whatever they are planning for Gideon but for now we are only going to gather intel. I also needed some guidance regarding my foundling given what I had found out.”

“The fact that he probably doesn’t have any family?”

“That, and the fact that Cara told me about one Jedi who was still alive.”

“They still exist?” she marveled, incapable of masking her excitement.

“Well, there’s only one for now. But he’s awfully young. Hero or not, I don’t trust him with the boy just yet.”

Haza had a lot more questions about this Jedi, but those could wait.

“So you’re keeping him, you’ve decided?” she asked instead.

“For now, yes. I’ll raise him as my own. But he is too young to receive any training, from Mandalorians or from Jedi.”

“You could finally name him…” she suggested, half-joking.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a small laugh. “I should really do that, shouldn’t I?”

“You certainly waited long enough, surely you have _some_ ideas.”

“I was gonna ask you for some help, actually.”

“Well don’t look at me, I named my son after my dead brother and my daughter after my dead husband, I’m really not a good example,” she deadpanned, still finding humor in the situation.

“What was dad’s name?” he asked, and she remembered he had no idea.

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“What?”

“He was also called Din.”

“How original…”

“I guess lack of originality for names runs in the family,” Haza shrugged, smiling slightly.

“Well I can’t name my son Din,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side as if he was seriously considering it.

“It would start to be a bit silly with three of you, yes,” she agreed.

“But maybe I could…” but he stopped himself, unsure.

“What?” she asked quietly, her hands coming to rest closer to his on the table. He’d removed his gloves again and she could see him twitch his fingers restlessly. She was half-tempted to grab his hands to make him stop.

“That uncle who sacrificed himself for you and his wife.”

“Keen.”

“Yeah, Keen. Would that be okay with you?”

“Definitely,” she said, clearing her throat at the sudden onset of emotions the name still evoked. “And I’m sure he’d like that, he loved you.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, he adored you. Took you everywhere and taught you jokes that pissed dad off. I was actually a bit jealous at all the attention, and I remember that’s why I said I would sit with him at the Temple that day.”

Din had stopped fidgeting. She wished she could give him all his memories back. But she knew it was impossible. She was glad that he had at least apparently read the texts she had set aside for him, but simply knowing and understanding he’d been hurt wouldn’t fix whatever was wrong. Still, it was a first step in the right direction.

“There was someone else, who sacrificed himself for the baby. An Ugnaught named Kuiil. It reminded me of his name when you told me about Keen. And I liked that. I thought it was fitting.”

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for once. Haza looked at his hands again, now motionless on the table. The short nails, small scars and calluses. They looked so real, but of course they _were_ real.

“I want to show you my face,” he whispered, as if he’d somehow read her thoughts.

“No, really, you don’t have to…”

“But I _want_ to,” he stressed, and Haza tried to decipher his tone but he seemed to be telling the truth. And he so very rarely voiced his opinion.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not giving you a choice. That I’m forcing you,” she rushed in to say, and suddenly realized she had grabbed one of his hands while talking. She meant to release it immediately, feeling like she was taking advantage, but he gripped her hand back, preventing her from breaking the contact.

 _Maybe he actually was ready_.

“That’s something else I talked about with my Alor. We hadn’t seen eye to eye on the subject the last time I’d spoken to her, and she’d asked me to make a choice. I told her I’d always be a Mandalorian and a hunter, because that's who I am. But I don’t think it should prevent me from being a father to my foundling, an uncle to your kids and…your brother.”

“And what did she say?” she asked, hoping the hand he was still holding wasn’t shaking too badly.

“She called me _atin utreekov_.”

“Which means?”

“Basically a stubborn idiot, but it’s still kind of a compliment in a way.”

“In what way?” she snorted.

“There’s no word in Mando’a for ‘compromise’, as that’s not really our kind of philosophy. But I think ‘stubborn idiot’ is the closest definition we could have, and it was her way of letting me know I could do what I felt was right. And showing you and your children my face feels right, you’re my family.”

“The children too?” she marveled, thinking she was not hearing correctly.

“Of course, but not tonight.”

“Right, no,” she agreed with a nervous laugh.

Haza couldn’t believe she was more apprehensive than him. She’d been waiting for this moment ever since he came back into her life. And yet now that he had finally offered to do it, she was utterly terrified and wracking her brain for a valid reason to stop him. But she drew a blank. Words – her beloved words – had deserted her.

She exhaled deeply and Din squeezed her hand one last time before releasing it. Slowly, he started to lift his helmet and she clenched her fists to restrain herself from stopping him. She almost closed her eyes when she started seeing skin, and then when his whole face was revealed she didn’t think she blinked for a whole minute, not wanting to miss a thing.

He looked both completely different from the seven year old brother she had lost, and yet exactly the same. Haza slowly raised her trembling hands from the table, wordlessly asking him if she could touch his face and he nodded, the movement utterly bizarre and unexpected when he wasn’t wearing his helmet. After all these years and all he had been through, violence, wars, death…and the only word that came to her mind when she studied his face was kind. He looked _kind_. His brown eyes evoking warmth and trust. His hair unruly and curling behind his ears. The complete _opposite_ of what she thought a Mandalorian would look like. And yet…

She gently placed her hands against his stubbly cheeks, fully expecting him to pull back, but he didn’t. She imagined he would have a hard time masking his discomfort, being so used to a life hidden away behind beskar, and the fact that he still hadn’t stopped her movements was proof he might actually be okay with this. Haza breathed a sigh of relief – she was no longer shaking, this was _right_.

“You need a haircut and a shave, Dingo,” she blurted out, the nickname coming back naturally and taking her by surprise.

“Dingo?” he asked, and oh, she hadn’t realized she would also get to hear his voice.

“You’d follow me around everywhere when you were a toddler. And sometimes that was annoying, so I’d tell you to go.”

“Din, go,” he deduced and she nodded, her eyes welling up at the memory.

“You were just starting to speak. You loved repeating everything, and somehow that became your favorite word for a while, and you’d yell it again and again to get my attention – so that’s how I started calling you.”

Her hands were still framing his face, and when he started smiling she felt it, and touched the corner of his eyes that had crinkled in joy.

“Oh, it’s really you…” she whispered, overwhelmed. “I know it’s silly but… A part of me was still worried, you know?”

Haza lifted her hands from his face and placed them on her burning cheeks instead, tears escaping her eyes.

“I know,” he confirmed, and she never wanted him to stop speaking. “A part of me is still convinced this is all an elaborate trick.”

He turned his hands on the table, palms up, and she gripped them in both of hers, hard.

“This is real. We’re both really here, we both survived… Welcome home, Din.” And he gripped her hands back just as hard at the words she had waited thirty years to say.


End file.
